A New Dynamic
by Ace-Sherlock-Holmes
Summary: Request: Hello! We usually see Sherlock as the asexual one in the Johnlock dynamic. So what about a sexually active Sherlock and an asexual John, for once?
1. Chapter 1

_**Request: Hello! We usually see Sherlock as the asexual one in the Johnlock dynamic. So what about a sexually active Sherlock and an asexual John, for once?**_

 ** _A/N: This one ran away from me. I already have four more chapters ready but I need to edit them. I wanted to get chapter one uploaded today anyway, so enjoy!_**

* * *

John Watson did not like sharing his bed with anyone. There was something about sharing a close space with someone that didn't sit well with him. Skin pressed against skin, limbs getting entangled, two sets of rising and falling chests. The act of sharing a bed was as intimate and terrifying as sex.

Upon the news that there was only one bed available in the pub B&B his gut had dropped with instinctual fear. Sharing a bed with Sherlock was almost as daunting as staring down at the barrel of a gun. When conscious the man was unpredictable, but unconscious? The thought of lying next to a sleeping Sherlock was enough to set his heart off in his chest.

After the scare with the hound John hadn't expected Sherlock to return to the B&B, and he hadn't anticipated his friend wanting to sleep at all. The younger man had seemed so utterly rattled by whatever he'd seen, that it was probable that he would be too wired to sleep at all. This shouldn't have been a relief. His doctor side should have insisted that the man should sleep, but the side that was scared to share a bed with the detective won out.

He was only just beginning to drift off into the realms of sleep and dreaming, when he heard the creak of the bedroom door. There was the sound of gentle footsteps as Sherlock entered the room.

"John?" He seemed sorry for himself, voice so small that John had to strain his ears to fully catch the sound of his own name. "I know you're not asleep."

John turned over, his gut tense. He'd only just calmed himself down from the state he'd worked himself into over the shared bed scenario. He opened his eyes to see a much calmer Sherlock to the one that he'd left drinking in the pub. "I was almost there before you came in."

"Should I leave? You're clearly still mad about earlier."

Even in the crepuscular lighting of the room John could see the slight flinch on Sherlock's face. There was something incredibly fragile about that expression. He didn't have the heart to kick Sherlock out. Besides, where would he go? He'd probably wander around in the cold trying to solve the Henry Knight case all on his own.

"No. Stay. You look exhausted."

Sherlock nodded silently and turned to hang up his coat on the back of the bedroom door. John couldn't help but notice a tremor in both of the younger man's hands, not dissimilar to the one that had plagued him when he'd been deported back to England after his injury.

He would have offered to help, but he knew that Sherlock was far too stubborn to accept any form of assistance. So instead he watched as Sherlock struggled to untie his laces, and in the end kicked both of his boots off in annoyance.

Much to John's horror Sherlock did not stop at just his coat and boots. The rest of his clothes were unbuttoned and flung to the floor unceremoniously, until the curly haired man only had a pair of boxer shorts clinging to his last shred o dignity.

The breath in John's throat caught as he waited to see if those would come off as well. A moment later and John was privy to the sight of a very naked and shameless Sherlock. The man was clearly comfortable in his body as he strode over to the bed, completely unaware of how exposed John was feeling just by seeing Sherlock in his full glory.

As much as John tried to avoid looking at…certain areas, he found that his eyes drifted down to Sherlock's lower half automatically. He realised quite possibly that he was staring, but he couldn't help it. A mixture of awe, shock and terror was threatening to rip through him.

The mattress dipped down and Sherlock slid beneath the thick duvet covers. Thank God John would be spared of the staring, but he knew that below the material covering them both a very naked Sherlock lay. Wrapped up in a pair of thick wooly pyjamas, John felt completely inadequate in comparison.

"Are you certain you're OK with this?" Sherlock tried to look John directly in the eyes, but John averted his gaze, refused to meet eye contact. He felt so awkward that he half wished a crazed hound would barge in on them both. No such luck.

He just about managed a small nod of his head and a quiet "Yes,"

This didn't seem to satisfy Sherlock. He grabbed John's chin and forced him to look right into his piercing eagle-like eyes.

"Something is bothering you. Your pulse has elevated far beyond the norm for a resting pulse rate, your pupils are blown, and you've turned a rather splendid pink. I'd say arousal under any normal circumstances, but this is something different. More along the lines of…fear."

"Sherlock-"

Sherlock pulled away before John could finish his sentence. The younger man's brow had knitted together, his eyebrows forming a hurt little frown. "You are frightened of me? Disgusted by my nakedness?"

 _No!_

Sherlock was reading it all wrong. He wasn't disgusted with Sherlock. Aesthetically speaking the detective was beautiful and pleasing on the eye. Perhaps daunted was a better way of describing how John was feeling? Not everyone could be so comfortable with their sexuality, or their own body.

Sherlock began to pull away.

"Wait! Don't go!"

John tugged him back into the covers, which took a considerable amount of effort. For a thin streak of a man, Sherlock was heavier than he looked. He landed a little closer to John than he'd been before.

John's reaction caused Sherlock to raise a quizzical eyebrow in response. Their bodies were now pressing up against each other. John felt himself flush a deep shade of red. "You're giving me some very mixed signals, I must admit. Most men approach me outright if they're interested in… but you're not, are you? Interested. Not in the way men usually show interest in my body."

Most men? Of course John had his suspicions about Sherlock. He was handsome and exciting, a rare breed. Is was only natural that other men were sexually interested in him. He'd just assumed that Sherlock was either Asexual, or too invested in "the work" to bother reciprocating.

"Oh Sherlock," John sighed, his breath expelling from his lungs with a stutter. "It's not you, it's me. I'm…."

"You're…? Come on, John. Spit it out."

John trusted Sherlock quite well by now, but he was about to admit something that he had never voiced before, and that scared him. There was something about Sherlock's open faced expression that made the confession flow from his lips.

"Asexual. I'm Asexual. There, heh, I said it."

He waited for Sherlock to mock him, or come up with some snarky remark, but that never came. Instead Sherlock wrapped both of his arms around John and tugged him a little closer, so that John's face was resting on Sherlock's smooth, flat chest.

"It's OK, John. I do not plan on seducing you, so you can calm down."

A deep exhale left John, as he felt a flood of relief flow through him. All of the tension that had been building up in his muscles left and rolled off him. Being in Sherlock's arms actually felt…good. Comfortable. The soft sound of the younger man's heartbeat beneath his ear was reassuring.

Soon John became so at ease that his eyes begin to slide shut again. As they did so, however, John heard a soft "I'm sorry by the way."

"F'er what?" John mumbled, voice slurred with the edges of sleep. Now that he was no longer panicking or worried about Sherlock, he just wanted to get a good night's sleep.

"For being an arsehole earlier. I was wrong. I do have friends. Just the one though."

John hummed and snuggled a little closer to the arms that enveloped him. He hoped that conveyed to Sherlock that everything was alright and all was forgiven. And as Sherlock's unsettled body tried to get comfortable, John didn't even realise he'd reached out for Sherlock's hand. He did however feel the gentle squeeze of thanks that Sherlock gave him in return.

* * *

The next day John was aware a pair of cold feet were pressed against his thigh. The weight of Sherlock's body was evident against his back. As he turned his head slightly he could see a still sleeping Sherlock spooning him. It wasn't necessarily a bad sensation. In fact… he rather liked it.

He wouldn't mind making this a more common occurrence, but John knew that whatever their relationship was going to evolve into, it didn't involve future spooning or anything else along those lines. It just wouldn't work.

From last nights confessions it was clear that Sherlock was little more sexually active than he led people to believe, and John himself fell somewhere on the Asexual spectrum, meaning that this…this small glimpse of what they could have together…was impossible.

Sherlock Holmes would never be his. And John Watson could never offer himself fully to Sherlock. They both had different needs. Neither of them would be happy.

Before Sherlock could wake John slipped out of the covers. The detective let out a small groan of annoyance, but other than that he did not stir.

As John got dressed he felt a strange sort of ache in his chest, as he pined for something that he previously hadn't even been aware he needed or wanted so badly.

* * *

The case was over. Another solved one in the bag. John would write about it on his blog later but for now he was too busy tucking into a steaming full English breakfast.

"So they didn't have it put down then; the dog."

John glanced up as Sherlock approached the outdoors bench he was sat at.

He chewed on a piece of sausage in contemplation and nodded. "Obviously. Suppose they couldn't bring themselves to do it."

Sherlock took a seat beside John, sitting a little closer than usual. "I see."

John smiled fondly at his friend. "No you don't"

"No, I don't." Sherlock admitted, much to his chagrin "Sentiment?"

"Sentiment!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes to hide the fact that he was amused. "Yes, that." Then his gaze moved to settle on John. "Sentiment is something I'm slowly coming to terms with."

John could feel heat beginning to prickle up his neck. He tried his hardest not to flush, but to his embarrassment his body had other ideas, and his cheeks were soon a bright shade of pink.

The detective gradually moved his hand so that it was placed over John's smaller one. Their fingers entangled till they were actually holding hands.

"Sherlock, stop."

Sherlock frowned, hurt, and pulled his hand away from John reluctantly. "You didn't seem to mind me holding your hand last night. I just assumed…"

"Last night was a one off, Sherlock. It won't happen again."

"Oh." John tried to ignore how much that one syllable word hurt.

He slid his knife and fork onto his plate, suddenly not feeling hungry. "I'll get the suitcase, shall I?"

The only response he received was a wordless nod.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A huge thanks goes to Thilbo4Ever for leaving a review on this story. A thanks also goes out to everyone who have favourited and followed this story. I hope you enjoy the second chapter!**

* * *

A sip of tea. A crinkle of a newspaper opening. Sip. Page turn. Sip. Page turn. John wanted to revel in the tranquility, just for a little while. So instead of looking straight up from the paper in his hands, he took another sip of his tea. Mmm. Nice, normal, untampered tea.

It was the first bit of peace John and Sherlock had gotten since "The Hound Of The BaskerVille" case. Things had fallen quiet again, but it seemed that the detectives' need to solve cases had been sated for now. He'd been mostly keeping himself to himself. At one point John had even seen him blowtorching a severed finger to see the affects of different temperatures on burn victims.

The silence should have been a worrying change in 221B, but John had been trying to make the most out of it. Though the calm after the storm was not unusual, these short bursts of serenity didn't tend to last long. John was making the most out of it. Plus John was almost glad that Sherlock wasn't in the mood for long discussions, as after what had happened between them, things were bound to be awkward.

He was first alerted to Sherlock's presence when he heard the soft rustle of clothes and the approaching footsteps. He tried to pay the other man no attention, but it was hard not to be completely aware of his presence. Sherlock was a man who was full to the brim with life and vibrant energy. His personality and ego alone seemed to have the ability to fill an entire room.

A moment later Sherlock cleared his throat, emitting a deep rumble. John exhaled softly and began to pull his attention away from the article he'd been eyes moved away from the paper in his hands and up to the detective, who was now watching him with somewhat of a bemused expression. John tried not to startle too badly when he realised just how close his friend was standing, leaning into John's personal space as though it didn't exist at all.

"What's this then?" John nodded towards the material draped over Sherlock's arm.

"It's for a case, John. You will need to put these on. What you are currently wearing is…most unsuitable." Sherlock's blue-green-grey eyes soaked in his appearance skeptically.

A quick look at what he was already wearing, and John scowled. It wasn't any different to what he usually wore. A soft, comfortable jumper that his sister had bought for him a few years ago, a pair of denim jeans, and wooly socks that kept his feet warm in the bitter winter. His leg tended to play up when the colder weather set in these days, and he liked to keep wrapped up.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?"

"We need to be believable, John. We will be attending a club as a couple. If people are to buy that we are, well, together in a romantic entanglement, you will need to dress similarly to the way I will be. From the research, I believe that will be the best course of action."

And there it was. Two words that made John's gut drop.

 _"A couple?" He stared at Sherlock ludicrously._

 _"Yes, a couple. Do keep up, John. Lestrade texted. Wants me to look into a few disappearances that he believes to be off. Get dressed, get dressed. We don't have time to delay!"_

Before John could dispute the use of those two words, Sherlock pulled John up to his feet, shoved the clothes into his arms dismissively, and lead John into his bedroom.

The door slammed shut and John was left feeling a bit like he'd just been hit by some brute force whirlwind. In a way he supposed that's exactly what had just happened to him. What was Sherlock getting him into this time?

* * *

Sherlock had gifted him with dress trousers, a purple button up shirt not too dissimilar to the one the younger man owned himself, and a black tie.

John thought that he looked ridiculous. Unlike Sherlock, he did not have a thin frame, and the button up shirt was unbearably skin tight, showing off John's less than adequate body. Since his return to England John's army physique had changed drastically.

Not that he lived a sedentary lifestyle these days. That would be rather impossible with he and Sherlock running amok in London after criminals. He just wasn't as restricted as he had been in the army. Food was readily available to him and he was not living on rations anymore. With help from Mrs Hudson's cooking and all the takeaway he and Sherlock basically lived on, his middle had filled out a bit more than he would have liked.

He just hoped that his physical appearance would be lost on the great detective. It was not unknown for Sherlock to comment on people's weights, or to make observations about how they looked.

Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, John stepped out of the door.

* * *

Waiting for him on the other side was a well dressed and unbearably handsome Sherlock. He was dressed in a dark navy button up that looked new, some smart black trousers, and a tie that was an exact match to the one he'd given John. His hair was slicked back with gel, so all of his usual curls were flattened. And was that…eyeliner? The overall outfit was pleasing to look at. And John had thought that it was impossible for Sherlock to appear any more handsome than he was usually.

"You'll need to put on these as well." Sherlock held out a pair of smart, recently polished shoes. "They're your size. I checked before I purchased them."

John took them without questioning it and he bent down to put them on. From the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock approach the coat stand and take John's old leather jacket (the one that he wore on their first ever case together).

When Sherlock began slipping into the jacket, John began to worry about the term "couple" again. What was Sherlock planning? What did he mean by couple?

"That's my…jacket."

"Excellent observation skills, John. My Boswell appears to be learning. "

"I mean, what do you want with my jacket? Why are you putting it on?"

"I should think that it's obvious."

"Heh, it's not. Not to me anyway."

"It's for a case, John! Boyfriends share jackets all of the time. At least that is what I have been led to believe. Tell me, am I wrong?"

John shook his head, dumbstruck. "No. They do, but you're missing the point. We are not a couple. I'm not your boyfriend."

Sherlock sighed, sounding particularly exasperated with John. "For goodness sake, John. As I have already stated, this is for a case."

"What case could possibly need us-" John gesticulated wildly towards them both. "to pretend that we are a couple."

"A gay bar is missing some of its regular clientelle. The victims thus far have been couples in established relationships. I surmised that our best shot at discovering what has been happening to the missing people is to act as though we ourselves are in a happy long term relationship with one another. Problem?"

"No, no problem. I just didn't want you to get any false ideas of us being in a couple, that's all."

"I am already perfectly aware that we are not a couple, John. You made it clear that even holding my hand repels you. But if you could just put up with my touch for this case, then we might just save the lives of the people disappearing. I thought you might like that, saving lives. You go on about it enough."

"Sherlock," John sighed through his nose. "Don't be like that."

"I'm not being like anything."Sherlock replied petulantly. A moment later he seemed to soften. "But I know this is a big ask, so if you so choose, I will participate in this case using other methods."

"Other methods?" John asked curiously.

"I could perhaps go to the club to seek out a suitable partner. I would then trick them into a relationship. It would take months though, to gain that trust, and build an established relationship. By then the perpetrator might have moved on to a different club."

John could feel himself being guilted into agreeing to this whole stupid idea. But in any case he could not picture Sherlock dating someone else. The other night John had been given a sneak preview of a more vulnerable side to Sherlock. That was something he secretly wanted to keep for his eyes only.

"Alright, " he said after a moment. "I'll do it."

"You will?" Sherlock sounded genuinely surprised that John had agreed.

"Yes, I will. I just have one condition, OK?"

"Let's hear it,"

"Right then. I'll pretend to be your boyfriend as long as you promise this won't change things between us. Things are already…complicated, without adding real relationship drama on top of everything."

"Why would it change anything?" Sherlock frowned.

"It won't. That's what I'm saying. It'll just be pretend, OK? For the case."

"As I have said on more than one occasion now."

"Come on then." John reached out a hand to Sherlock. The man stared down at the hand like it was a foreign object that he didn't know what to do with. "Take it. I don't mind, honestly. We might as well be believable, yeh?"

Sherlock nodded his approval and took the offered hand. As Sherlock's fingers filled the spaces between John's own, John couldn't help but think how right it felt to be holding Sherlock Holmes' hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much for all of the follows and favourites. They're really appreciated. This third chapter was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

As Sherlock and John approached the club doors, John noticed Sherlock pulling up his sleeves. His arms were plastered in nicotine patches. That was never a good sign. Sherlock usually only implemented nicotine patches when he was nervous. Which begged the question; what had Sherlock so nervous that he was implementing four patches to sooth himself?

He raised an eyebrow quizzically at his friend. "A four patch problem?"

"This may be one of the biggest cases that I have taken on, John. It may prove to be problematic. I will need ensure that my mind is functioning properly."

John sighed and shook his head. "Fine. But only for this case, OK? Then you can go back to one patch like a regular person."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You sound like my mother."

John blinked in response, unsure what to say. It was a very rare occasion when Sherlock chose to speak about his parents. It was sometimes hard to remember that Sherlock had parents. The way Sherlock paraded around like some kind of cold hearted machine made it so easy to forget how human Sherlock really was.

Instead of heading through the main entrance that was guarded by two well built bouncers, Sherlock dragged him away and down a side alley.

"Where are we going, Sherlock? I thought you said we needed to investigate the club?"

"We do, and we will. We're just taking the tourist entrance."

 _Oh god,_ John thought, _this madman is going to be the death of me._

Sherlock's hand fell down to his side and moved to hold John's hand. He squeezed gently, as though asking for reassurance that what he was doing was OK.

John nodded. Given the go ahead John Watson took a step into the club through the side door, holding Sherlock's hand tight.

* * *

John hadn't attended a club since his youth. Now stood is a snazzy new club, as a man in his late thirties, and an old weathered ex-army soldier, John couldn't feel any more out of place if he tried. Looking around him at all the other gay couples, he realised that he and Sherlock were the oldest ones in there. Everyone else appeared to be fresh faced and younger than them by a good twenty years.

If it wasn't for Sherlock standing by his side, John would have felt completely ungrounded. Sherlock himself seemed completely comfortable with the atmosphere of the club. John half wanted to ask him if he'd been to the club before on a different occasion, but Sherlock was already in what John called "full case mode." All the while _still holding John's hand tight._

Whenever he got like this, John knew that it would be impossible to reach him. His eyebrows pulled together in concentration, his piercing eyes scouring every last inch of the place, settling on anyone he found interesting and deducing them at lightning quick speed. John occasionally squeezed the detective's hand to let him know that he was still there. He figured that the gesture was appreciated as John felt a few gentle squeezes back.

There was something bizarre about being in the middle of a nightclub in London holding Sherlock Holmes' hand. Though it wasn't necessarily a bad sensation.

Loud blaring music was playing in the club; something metallic without any words. But whatever it was the youngsters seemed to like it, bobbing their heads in time with the beat in between shots of various alcoholic beverages. John could already feel a dull ache in his skull; a sure sign that a headache was beginning to set in. This case was going to be a long one; he could tell.

A long, drawn out case meant pretending to be Sherlock's boyfriend for a while longer than he felt comfortable with, but he'd put up with it, because he knew that if he didn't he'd be on the wrong side of a bored and restless consulting detective, and that wouldn't do anyone any good.

As a medical man he would not usually advocate drinking so early in the evening, but tonight he was going to make an exception. If he was going to survive the night pretending to be Sherlock's boyfriend, then he needed to be inebriated.

Luckily Sherlock appeared to be thinking on the exact same lines. He let go of John's hand in favour of turning towards the bar. He stood quite comfortably, elbows leaning on the smooth surface of the bar, and he ordered two pints of beer. He seemed quite friendly with the bar staff. John even spotted a genuine looking smile gracing Sherlock's face, but he couldn't be certain if he was just acting.

It wasn't unknown for Sherlock to put on masks of emotion that weren't real. The stage had lost a very talented actor when Sherlock decided to become a detective. The way his friend could manipulate his own emotions was terrifying. Sometimes it meant that John himself didn't know where he stood with the detective, though he prided himself on knowing him the best. Even Lestrade had admitted that after knowing Sherlock for years John probably knew him better.

"Been here before?" John couldn't take watching Sherlock in silence for a moment longer. He found that his curiosity got the better of him.

Sherlock sipped at the pint placed in from of him gingerly and nodded, though his eyes did not move to greet John. Instead he continued to look out across the club, as though looking for something specific.

"Mmmm. I would come here from time to time when I was in university. A friend introduced me to the place. Actually, it's him that brought us here tonight."

"A friend? I thought you said-"

"I know what I said, John." Sherlock snapped, interrupting John mid sentence. John couldn't help but feel like he'd hit a tender nerve. " And for the most part it still remains true. I have not been in Victor Trevor's life for a long time."

Before John even had a chance to ask who Victor Trevor was, a man in his late thirties approached. He was tall with a set of blondish curls, and cheekbones even sharper than Sherlock's! He walked straight past John, ignoring him, and pulled Sherlock into a tight bear hug.

What surprised John more was that Sherlock seemed to reciprocate the hug. It shouldn't have bothered John that a smile lit up on his friends face that made him look younger and happier than John had ever seen him. It did, though. Who was this man? This man that Sherlock had neglected to mention for all of the time John had known him?

It was ridiculous. Of course John knew that Sherlock had had a life prior to John becoming his flatmate, but for some reason he'd had been under the impression that he was special. He'd rather prided himself on being one of the only ones mad enough to befriend the detective.

Before now John had always pictured Sherlock as the lonesome type, without any friends, isolated away from the world. He found now that the image of Sherlock he'd held in his mind was inaccurate and couldn't be further from the truth. Victor Trevor seemed dizzyingly happy about being in Sherlock's company.

He wondered why until now Sherlock had neglected to mention a university friend. Why hadn't Sherlock spoken to Victor in years? What had happened that was so bad that Sherlock wanted to shut that part of his life out? His head was spinning with so many questions, but he knew that Sherlock was unlikely to answer them in Victor's presence, so for now he bit his tongue and occupied himself by drinking his own beer.

"You look great, Sherlock. How've you been you great sod?" The man - Victor Trevor- clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. He scanned Sherlock with a heated expression that bothered John. It was like the man was undressing Sherlock with his eyes.

"I've been keeping well." Sherlock's eyes drifted from looking at Trevor and over to John. "I even have a boyfriend."

"Oh." The disappointment that filled Victor Trevor's face made John want to grin smugly but he refrained from doing so.

Sherlock took a step closer to John and once more reached out to hold his hand. This time John gripped hold of Sherlock's hand tight, clamping his fingers against the man's knuckles with more force than necessary. Wordlessly, Sherlock gave him a curious look, then he broke out into a smile. He seemed quite pleased with himself for some reason.

"Victor, this is John Watson, John Watson this is Victor." Sherlock, still looking like the cat that got the cream, gesticulated to them both.

"Your blogger?" Victor asked, still sounding disappointed with the new revelation.

"The one and the only," John said, his jaw clenched with tension. He instinctively didn't like this Victor fellow.

"We've all introduced ourselves. Great, now can we please discuss the case?"

Victor nodded. "Right, yeh. Can we go to the back room so we can speak in private?"

"Lead the way," Sherlock gestured for Victor to go first.

* * *

Victor lead them to a small private area at the back of the club. Inside the room there were two comfortable looking sofas. Sherlock took a seat on one of them and John immediately planted himself down so that there was barely any space between himself and Sherlock, their knees knocking together gently. Victor sat on the sofa opposite them, looking uncomfortable.

He didn't know why but he was feeling especially overprotective of Sherlock. He wanted to make sure that this Victor Trevor guy didn't get any ideas about getting too close to him. Sherlock Holmes belonged to John Watson. It was selfish, he knew, but then again Sherlock himself seemed to be revelling in the attention he was receiving from John.

"I am already aware of the situation at hand," Sherlock said. "However I would like you to repeat your story. Do not leave out any details." Then he leaned back into the sofa and sat with his head cocked, waiting for Victor Trevor to describe the dilemma of the missing clientele.

Little did John know then, but this case would push him and Sherlock to more extremes than they had ever been through. It would be a trial of friendship, their connection, and their way of life. Everything was about to change.


End file.
